


Seven times Maria couldn't stand Carol Danvers and one time she refused to

by Counterpunch



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 14:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19275322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Counterpunch/pseuds/Counterpunch
Summary: The point was to break them down, Maria knew. Rip them apart and grind them into the dirt. It was up to them to find the determination and resolve, fight to build themselves back up. Basic training was called that for a reason.Even still, she wanted nothing to do with Danvers. Maria could see the chip on her shoulder a mile away. It wouldn’t do her any good here. The MTI’s didn’t care and the rest of the flightsureas hell didn’t. Whatever was biting at her was sure to eat her up. Danvers had fire, all right. But it would just as soon burn her up, taking down everyone nearby with her. And Maria didn’t want to be anywhere close to the flames.





	Seven times Maria couldn't stand Carol Danvers and one time she refused to

The first two days it seemed like the yelling would never stop. Their training instructors barked every word in one constant volume; full bodied shout. And it started the second they got off the bus at the base. Pulling into Lackland, a group of military training instructors waited, shouting the moment the door opened for them to get into two lines. As they scrambled off as quickly as possible and shuffled into place, there’s an unbroken soundtrack of yelling.

An MTI announced himself as Wheeler and commanded them to put their bags on the ground. Thirty _thumps_ of duffels and backpacks hitting the ground echoed loudly in the silence afterwards as no one dared to move a muscle.

Wheeler commanded them pick them up. Quicker. Then put them on the ground again, placing it more carefully, not dropping them as some people had done initially. Again. And again. And again. Fifteen times.

"Gives a whole new meaning to 'drop and give me twenty'," someone from the back joked quietly under their breath.

"What was that?!" Wheeler shouted, sliding next to where the sound had come from. His nose was two inches from the nearest trainee. "You think that was funny?!"

"No, sir," the cluster of cadets mumbled.

"What was that?!"

"NO, SIR!"

"Just to make _sure_ you don't think that's funny, I'm gonna have you do it a few more times. Since you thought it was so hilarious, let’s do it another fifty times! UP!”

It had already been an exceedingly long day, and Maria knew how much longer the next few days were going to be. What precious few hours of sleep were leftover to them were just eaten away by some dumb little shit six rows back. Taking a deep breath, she knelt to pick up her bag, not looking forward to finding out whoever was responsible for the added punishment.

 

* * *

 

“Wake up wake up wakeupwakeupWAKEUP!”

It was always the same order.

The whistles came before the shouts. Bangs were never far behind. Whistles. Shouts. Bangs.

Never one to wait for someone to tell what she knew had to be done anyway, Maria got up three minutes before reverie, groaning as her alarm went off.

Her brain was still fuzzy from sleep and exhaustion, but her body seemed to function on autopilot and somehow snapped to attention when the MTI's vicious wake ups echoed down the halls as the rest of the new recruits scrambled out of bed. They quickly pulled on clothes before being marched to physical training. It would be hours before the sun came up; the stars twinkled overhead, reminding Maria why she's there. The marching became more purposeful and her spine straightened even more as her voice sang a little stronger in step with the rest of the flight.

It’s still their first week so they ran with their civilian clothes and sneakers, not yet having been assigned and measured for their uniforms and boots. They’re easier targets, quickly identified by everything that makes them stick out as new recruits, and the military training officers didn’t hesitate to remind them of that. Loudly.

Despite the exhaustion, there's a comfort to the rhythm of their boots as the cadets moved as one; they learn how to function as a team step by literal step. But Maria was jolted out of it as the MTI rounded focus on a kid in the row in front of her, yelling at her for failing to sing the jodies loud enough. It's bullshit, she knew; they were no quieter than the trainee to the left, but it was someone else's turn to get reamed, and Maria was just grateful that time it isn't her.

At the same time, someone's toe skipped on the ground counter to the rhythm of their shoes, and though the stumble was slight, it would have gotten them reamed were the MTI not already yelling at someone else. Without turning her head, Maria snuck a look and saw it was the one who refused to take off her watch.

_"That dinky little thing isn't going to make it through BMT," Young had remarked, dropping their own watch in their civilian bag for lock up and replaced it with a simple black Casio._

_"I don't care," came the sharp response. "This? Never leaves my wrist."_

_Young shrugged, ignoring the glare directed at them. "Whatever. When that cracks down the middle, get a new one at BX. It's a waste of credit though, Danvers. Don't say I didn't warn you.”_

_"Won't happen." Danvers’ lips pursed a thin line before slamming the locker shut._

The point was to break them down, Maria knew. Rip them apart and grind them into the dirt. It was up to them to find the determination and resolve, fight to build themselves back up. Basic training was called that for a reason.

Even still, she wanted nothing to do with Danvers. Maria could see the chip on her shoulder a mile away. It wouldn’t do her any good here. The MTI’s didn’t care and the rest of the flight _sure_ as hell didn’t. Whatever was biting at her was sure to eat her up.

Trainees got yelled at for no reason. They'd all been threatened to have their 341’s pulled at one time or another, even if half the time it’s an empty threat. It's just a little slip of paper with their rank and ID, but get your 341 pulled enough times for legitimate infractions, and you'd be recycled or discharged. Danvers was lucky today.

Irritation got the better of her, and though Maria’s jaw barely moved (she would not get caught by the MTI for stepping out, not on account of some hothead), she couldn't help herself from muttering, "Just get a new damn watch."

Dawn haze made the sky just a little lighter, and though the sun wouldn't be up for a bit, the stars were no longer visible in the heavens. Maria sighed. It was going to be a long day.

 

* * *

 

Maria's mother always insisted she make her bed before breakfast. "Did you make your bed, young lady?" and Maria would pivot back up the stairs without a word. Forty seconds later, after galloping back down, she'd pull a chair out from the table when her mother added, "Did you make it _nicely_?"

This time, she definitely grumbled, and stomped a bit on her way up. She learned quickly not to try and fool her mother. She started doing it right the first time after that.

Turns out her bed making skills were useless during basic military training despite how well she’d learned as a kid, and Mrs. Rambeau’s wrath was nothing compared to MTI Baker’s. Hospital corners were no joke. It took her and Kane a half hour to get it right the first time, and they tore it up immediately to do it again faster. It was easier with two people, one to hold the corners tight while the other tucked and vice versa. An extra pair of eyes were always useful, too. Not a single thread could be seen or wrinkle left unsmoothed.

But a few days in, Maria thought she was getting the hang of it. Others, not so much. "Hey Danvers, you want some help with that?"

Kneeling on the floor, Danvers’ face twisted with a combination of pure focus and frustration. She huffed, blowing a strand of hair where it had come loose from her bun. There was no indication she'd heard. "Yo, Danvers," Maria repeated.

"No."

Maria raised her brows incredulously, "Excuse me?"

"No," repeated Danvers, pulling and readjusting the corner for what must have been the eighth time, "I don't need any help."

Lord Almighty, this woman was going to test Maria's patience. She gritted her teeth and with a deep breath, tried to speak as evenly as possible. "There's no shame in asking for help, you know that, right? This is basic, we're supposed to learn how to do this together anyway."

"Thanks, but-" Danvers grunted as she tucked her hand beneath the blanket and ran it down the mattress. She finished with a grin, triumphantly smacking the top of the bed with success. "I got it."

It looked decent enough, but Maria wasn't about to lecture a fellow trainee as if her words held more authority. Just cause she was right, doesn't mean Danvers was going to listen. "Fine."

Ten minutes later, they stood at attention in front of their lockers for inspection. Baker took measured steps, scanning the room for anything he could use to take them apart. The day before, Petner’s laundry bag strings weren't of equal length and she got dropped for fifteen push ups. Maria wasn't taking any chances. If she was going to get punished, it was going to be because Baker was making shit up for the show and not because she didn't do it right.

He paused halfway down the aisle, cocked his head like a predator, and just like that, Maria knew. Baker bent parallel to the bed, nose almost touching the blanket. "Danvers!" he barked. "Was the med bay unable to give you your corrective lenses?"

"Sir, no sir! I don't wear glasses, sir." Unlike her bed, at least her posture left nothing to be desired, standing ram-rod straight at attention.

"Really? Are you sure? Because to me," he said in an eerily calm voice pointing to the hospital corners, "that looks like a sixty degree angle and the only way a cadet in _my_ flight would mistake 60 degrees for 45 would be if they were unable to see clearly."

Danvers’ jaw ground silently, knowing what's coming. Baker got in her face. "Are you unable to see clearly, Danvers?"

"No, sir."

"Then WHY," he yelled, mere inches away, "Isn't there a 45 degree corner on my bed!" Baker yanks the dust cover, blanket, and sheets off the bed before upending the mattress completely. "If Danvers can't get it right, none of you get it right! Take it off and start again. I want to see them _perfect_!"

Their collective groans got swallowed up by the sound of Baker's continued shouting and thirty perfectly made beds being undone.

Maria's not the only one who was pissed, as more than several glares got directed to the fuming blonde. At least Danvers had the grace to look angrier than anyone else at herself. Maria had a feeling this isn't going to be the last of that stubborn streak, and she knew Danvers is gonna keep being trouble.

 

* * *

 

"Are your arms tired? How can your arms be tired, they're not arms, they're chicken wings! There's not an ounce of meat on those bones so you keep dropping until you drop! Give me another ten!"

She was born in Louisiana in the ‘60s, after all. Maria remembered water fountains, police patrols, and ways the white folks would sometimes cross the street at the sight of her family's approach.

Even if she hadn't been dreaming of flying since she could dream and there were no swimming tests required for the Air Force, she made sure to learn how anyway. Whether it was more to spite the dirty looks from white mothers as they ushered their kids out of the water or her own drive to be the best, she honestly couldn't say. But she never forgot the way spit felt on her cheek, so MTI Baker's worst barely even scratched the surface. Yelling during basic military training wasn’t designed to dehumanize them - it was supposed to make them better.

A bead of sweat crawled down Maria's brow to her nose and dangled at the tip like the little tickly fuck it was. She couldn’t free her arm to wipe it away, and if she shook her head too much, she'd lose balance and fall.

"What's the matter, Rambeau," Danvers huffed next to her between reps, "Feeling tired?"

It's amazing how four words out of that woman's mouth could instantly raise her blood pressure. Maria didn’t know how Danvers did it, but she's like a damn tick, getting under her skin. She didn’t have any energy left to spare, but it didn’t stop her from grinding her teeth. "Not a bit," Maria grunted, "You?"

"Nah, baby," grinned the response, "I'm in the clouds."

Worse than the attitude was that other people seemed to enjoy it. Some women in their flight were taken with her, finding easy cameraderie in the bravado and teasing but Maria found it grating. The cockiness that pulsed from her was something toxic, making Maria angry, which she hated. Anger made her sloppy. "Have fun up there. Some of us have a little bit of work to do here on the ground." Her arms screamed as she pushed herself up another rep.

"See you in the air, then, Rambeau." Danvers smirked, even as her arms trembled with strain.

Maria channeled her frustration into doing an extra two push ups. She’d be damned if at least something good wasn’t going to come from this.

 

* * *

 

There wasn't much unsupervised time away from the MTIs when they mingled with the male trainees, but it was eagerly anticipated. Patio time on Sunday was the one day during the week in which there were five treasured minutes to call loved ones and family. It took forever to wait for a turn on the pay phones, and many choked back tears once finally getting through but it was the best three minutes of the entire week. Most filled the time with smoking and shooting the shit, enjoying a few moments of relaxation and respite.

Maria's feet were elevated comfortably, writing a letter home when the tranquil air was disturbed by raised voices and the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Maria jumped to her feet, only to see Danvers eat dirt with a particularly nasty looking punch to the gut by Pikitis. Pikitis was the size of a small house and built like a horse. He was everything the service could want in a military man, even if it meant he was probably better served for the Army or Marines. He'd certainly fill out a cockpit, that's for damn sure. Maria'd been wary of him, though. She couldn’t place her finger on why exactly, he hadn’t done anything to warrant the accusation. Somehow she knew he's got a mean streak, cruelty waiting just behind the veneer of a bright smile and perfect cadet.

Maria cringed in sympathy - Pikitis was a pig but she should've known better than to pick a fight with him. Maria could have told anyone that Pikitis wasn't the kind of man to let a slight go unpunished. Danvers' hotheadedness got her into trouble again, but this time it was gonna leave a mark. It doesn't matter if Pikitis deserved the punch. That was the thing about anger; you gotta hold onto that fire, make it a part of you so when the world does everything it can to break you down, it keeps you warm instead.

Maria sighed as her frostiness towards Danvers thawed and got the best of her. There were so few women in the Force, it didn't do any good hating each other. What was the point of basic if not to help each other become stronger than before? It only took a few steps to make it to where Danvers was still crouched on the ground in pain. "Well that was stupid," Maria remarked dryly, bending over and helping hoist her to her feet. "What are you doing, picking a fight with him?"

Danvers' mouth was half open with a response when Maria put up a hand to stop her. "Nevermind, I don't actually wanna know."

Fury twisted on Danvers’ face. "He-"

"Whatever it was, he probably deserved it." There’s dirt on the back of Danvers' uniform and as she smacked it, a cloud of dust escaped. "But we gotta be smarter and better than they are, not dumber. This isn't kindergarten. Baker doesn't care about who said what, only what happened. So who do you think is gonna get recycled, you or him?"

There was a brief window when Maria wondered if her words had gotten through as a kind of softness graced Danvers’ face. She thought it almost looked like longing and there's a funny feeling in her chest, but was gone nearly as quickly as it appeared when Danvers blinked, pushing down whatever had stirred to the surface. Her shoulders tensed in an almost predatory way, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. "If you're just going to stand there and let them do whatever they want, then next time just leave me on the ground." She jerked her arm out of Maria's hands and stomped off along with whatever patience Maria had left.

Punching the problem wasn't going to solve it, only make it worse. Danvers had fire, all right. But it would just as soon burn her up, taking down anything nearby with her. And Maria didn't want to be anywhere close to the flames.

 

* * *

 

When Maria was a little girl, she always tried to rush through meals, eating her food quickly, eager to get back to playing with the neighborhood kids. "Chew your food! Don't just gobble it down like an animal. Manners, Maria," her parents would scold. It took a while to temper her impatience, and though she managed to eat more slowly, her parents noticed her leg bounce rapidly under the table and excused her without dragging the meal too much. She'd be off like a rocket, back to playtime or later, studying, but not without kisses to her parents’ cheeks and a "Thank you, love you!" on her way out the door.

Eating at base was throwing that playbook out the window. Protocol required them to have at least twenty minutes to eat a meal, but most of that time was spent waiting in line for food. By the time they got seated, it left precious few minutes to actually get food down.

Navigating the chow hall was a minefield of its own. The MTIs ate together at an innocuous enough looking table, until they found out it was called the Snake Pit. Aptly named, the MTIs would sit and wait, watching everyone like a hawk, ready to jump and pounce on the smallest detail from the angle legs were folded under the table to how a bag was placed on the floor, turning an already stressful meal into one with stomach-churning consequences.

If eating was bad enough, being the chow runner was the absolute worst job during BMT, hands down. One trainee in each flight had the unsavory task of reporting to the Snake Pit and speaking directly to the MTIs, announcing their flight was ready to enter and eat. It was an opportunity for the MTI's to do their worst, tripping up the chow runner who got the bulk of their wrath. As bad as they all had it, the chow runner was first in and ate last under the tightest scrutiny. The first few days of Zero Week had more than a few chow runners crying. The toughest held out in front of the MTIs but often lost it at the table.

Danvers didn't cry once. There was a spark of begrudging admiration in that. Somehow that annoyed Maria and she wasn't sure why. Probably because it meant Danvers was just too damn stubborn to cry.

Danvers never cried, but her lips did quiver those first few days. Whether in barely contained rage or affected by the yelling, Maria didn’t know. What she did know is two weeks in, once they got the hang of things, every time Maria approached in line waiting for seating directions, Danvers managed to wink at her with the barest smirk and twinkle in her eye. The gesture said she knew she _exactly_ what she was doing and liked it. It's remarkable how she could manage to piss Maria off with so little.

She wished she knew why Danvers got under her skin so badly. She'd seen plenty of cocksure wannabe flyboys but none of them rankled her the same way. If Maria stabbed her food a little harder than was strictly necessary every time Danvers made eye contact with her, none of the others at the table said anything.

* * *

They got faster by the third day of the week.

Maria's father had a weapon in the house, but never let her touch it. Even though both of them knew she'd be entering the service one day, it never saw the light of day and stayed locked in the weapons chest. "It's something you hope you never need, babygirl," he would say tenderly, cupping her cheek. He didn't talk much about his time in combat. Instead, the stories were all about the people he served with. Names that were so familiar as if they were old friends of her own permeated her childhood and helped inspire her dreams. The thirst for flight was in her DNA, but so was the camaraderie of it. She knew what family was and could be; it was what you built. Airmen take care of their own. Planes got you in the air but people made you fly.

That was still a long way away, but with every piece of the M16 she snapped into place, it was that much closer.

Like everything else during BMT, they were meant to accomplish the task as quickly, efficiently, and correctly as possible, but this was the first time in which they had space to have a little fun with getting there. They were almost giddy, getting their training weapons. It added a little jolt of excitement to basic; also reminded them of the seriousness of it,too. Airmen didn't shoot or handle weapons often, but were still expected to be familiar and trained with them just the same.

Firing wouldn't happen for another few weeks, so before then, they were expected to know their weapons inside and out. Part of that meant scheduled time to practice rifle assembly and disassembly. Of course, this didn't stop them from practicing on their own, timing each other in good-natured competition.

Maria should've known though, that going up against Danvers would be anything _but_. It started innocently enough, with the flight pairing off and taking five practice minutes before the clock began. Maria could tell Danvers was confident around a weapon- that it wasn't her first time handling the equipment, even if it hadn’t been as high-powered as an M16. Jealousy flared, Maria silently berating her father’s refusal to show her his weapon, wishing she had any edge of familiarity that would help wipe the perpetual smirk and confidence off Danvers' face.

She took a deep breath before the timer started and tried to focus on herself and the task at hand. Remove magazine. Open bolt and eyeball chamber. Remove handguards, Pivot upper receiver from lower. Pull back charging handle and bolt carrier. Remove bolt carrier and bolt. Thirteen more steps before it was disassembled, and then she immediately pivoted into assembly. Insert buffer and spring. Join upper and lower receivers. Engage receiver pivot pin. Put on handguards. Risking a glance sideways, Maria could see they were neck and neck. She swore to god if Danvers beat her, she’d recycle her own damn self.

Danvers actually looked like she was sweating, but Maria won in the end, pulling through just at the last second. But the last second is the only one that mattered. She won and relished her chance to smirk at Danvers. Despite losing, all Danvers offered was, "Best out of three?"

Maria fumed."Why can't you just admit that I won?"

"Why admit defeat when you can go again?" She quirked an eyebrow.

"Some of us don't have to constantly prove ourselves, Danvers. We already know we're enough."

The playful tone left abruptly and Danvers' face hardened in an instant. It turned cold and flat, so unlike the heated emotions that usually burned from her. A funny feeling fluttered through Maria's chest, and it took her a minute to recognize it as something like guilt. "Carol-" she started before being waved off.

"Save it for the test," Danvers spat with an air of finality and turned away, leaving embers smoldering behind.

Maria felt a little colder, the win a little emptier than it had been before. “Shit.”

 

* * *

 

It didn't even matter what the problem was this time. Didn't matter what happened to set her off, only that it had happened too many times by now and Maria was _over_ it. She was long past the end of her rope. The rope was frayed. No - the rope was _string_. Not keen on getting involved, everyone else had cleared out of the bathroom once the yelling began, leaving the two of them in a rare moment alone in the dorms.

"All right, that's _it_ ," Maria slapped her towel on the sink, "You know what your problem is, Danvers? You don't think anybody else here can _possibly_ know anything other than you. You’re too damn stubborn to ask for help because it means you can’t do everything yourself. You know what I think? I think you’re afraid to be seen. Afraid you’ll be just like everybody else.”

“I’m not like _any_ body else.” Danvers growled, but there was something new in the way her eyes shone just a little too wetly: vulnerability.

Maria remembered what happened the other day during weapons assembly, saw the weak spot in the armor in front of her and honed in on it. “That’s your problem, Danvers. Here, we’re all like everybody else.” Maria took measured steps forward, emboldened by her own anger. “I see you not calling anyone on Sundays and no one writing you letters.” Maria hated that it felt good, having this kind of power over someone, going for the kill. But something kept propelling her forward, and the words rose like vomit, unbidden. “You're afraid people will know you've got nobody."

Danvers’ face was enraged like she’d never seen it before. It was a level of molten lava beyond the glares usually directed at their MTI or the countless jerks like Pikitis. Maria’s chest heaved in anger and something else she couldn’t even name, and stood her ground to take whatever would explode out of the woman in front of her. Something darkened in Danvers’ eyes, and just when Maria thought she was going to snap and punch her, rough hands gripped her face. Slightly chapped lips pressed against her own and it tasted... _delicious_ . There's a hunger in the kiss Maria never felt outside of herself before. It wanted almost as much as _she'd_ always wanted - to be the best, the fastest, the smartest - to prove herself to a world designed to dismiss her.

Shock and surprise warred within for a moment, and thousand emotions flipped through her. Right after confusion, lust flared, coiling down her belly, the weeks of sustained physical strain and months beforehand of intimate isolation taking their toll. Danver’s tongue was exquisite, and calloused hands slipped under Maria’s tank, cresting her stomach. The sensations were too much and part of her brain definitely short-circuited.

It wasn’t until her back hit the bathroom wall, the tiles quickly cooling the heat that throbbed within her, that anger flared to the surface. After everything; this - _this_? What was she, a five-year-old kindergartner tormenting their crush?

Then - a larger, more adult fear overshadowed everything else: this was the Air Force. They could be discharged without question in a second if someone saw them. Did Danvers think so little of her own career to risk this? And how dare she put _Maria_ in this position? It wouldn't matter if Maria said she didn't kiss her back, never wanted it, or was surprised. It'd be a hushed but swift kick to the curb and they'd lose their wings before even having gotten the chance to get them. So even though Maria found herself kissing Carol back (oh god, was she kissing Carol back), the little warning bell in the back of her head rang louder than the fire in her veins.

Pulling back with a wet _pop_ , Maria found, was probably the hardest part of basic military training thus far. Forget the 5am physical training, forget endless drills, and MTIs constantly screaming in their faces. Standing across from Carol Danvers as their chests heaved in a deliciously pleasurable torture and deciding to walk away was the toughest thing she'd faced at Lackland. "This can't happen," was all she could think to say. It spoke volumes. Maria knew Carol wanted the Force too; to fly and win and serve as much as she did. That she wanted to prove, more than anything, what women like them were capable of - giving 110% more than the men, getting less out of it, but going higher, further, and faster with what they had. Soaring despite the system that did everything in its power to keep them grounded. They needed to fly. And whatever this was? What stood between them crackling like electricity would prevent that from happening. One look at Carol's face and Maria knew she had come to the same conclusion.

"No," Carol agreed. "It can't."

Already a sadness at what Maria never knew she could lose flooded her chest as disappointment caved in. An ocean of attraction and desire lay between them now, and neither one could allow the possibility of indulging in it. They wanted too much.

“See you later then, Maria,” Danvers lingered in the doorway just a few moments, like she was committing something to memory, then slid on a smile before leaving as if it were a jacket.

As Maria licked her lips and tasted what was left of their encounter, she knew the last few weeks of basic military training with Danvers were going to be even tougher to bear than they were before.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the following resources for their service to their country as well as helping to teach me about USAF BMT. I recommend clicking around on these sites, they're wonderful
> 
> [source 1](https://basictoblues.com/how-hard-is-air-force-basic-training/)
> 
> [source 2](https://www.thebalancecareers.com/a-females-perspective-of-air-force-basic-training-4057765)
> 
> [source 3](https://www.rosecoloredwater.com/air-force-basic-training-week-0/)
> 
> [source 4](http://aimhigherin.com/2012/01/bmt-chow-runnin-and-grubbin.html)


End file.
